


come back to me

by bleep0bleep



Series: A Series of Tumblr Ficlets [18]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8095306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: Stiles feels guilty; this isn’t the first dinner he missed. Hell, they hardly eat together anyways. Derek wakes early to catch the BART down to Berkeley, and Stiles used to wake up just in time to give him a goodbye kiss, but he’s gotten used to waking up and Derek already having left for the day. And sometimes Stiles will get home and Derek is still in his office, grading papers well into the night. God, he misses his boyfriend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt by chubbiestfox, who asked: 
> 
> DEREK AND STILES ARE IN A RELATIONSHIP, AND FOR WHATEVER REASON STILES BEGINS TO NEGLECT DEREK AND HIS NEEDS, MAKING HIM FEEL INSECURE AND UNWANTED. ANGST WITH A HAPPY ENDING. 
> 
> Originally published [here.](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/post/150639678285/hey-there-i-love-your-work-and-was-hoping-to-send)

It’s late by the time Stiles gets home; the lights are all off, and he toes off his shoes and flops on the couch, discarding pieces of his uniform until he’s in his undershirt and boxers. His feet are aching. He lays there for a moment in the dark before his growling stomach directs him to the kitchen. The tiny apartment is silent. Derek is already in bed, probably. 

Stiles plugs his phone to charge and grimaces as it comes to life; two missed texts from Derek. 

**_From Love of Your Life, 7:49 pm:_ ** _are you going to be home for dinner?_

**_From Love of Your Life, 10:22 pm:_ ** _in fridge_

Stiles opens the fridge and finds an aluminum-foil-covered baking tray and unwraps it. Roasted chicken, some bacon-wrapped asparagus. Fancy. He feels guilty for missing dinner, but fucking car chases, man. He used to think getting to be a cop in a big city would be the best, you know? Nothing ever happened in Beacon Hills, and here Stiles could really make a difference. It took three hours to get that guy to pull over, and they did manage to recover all that money stolen from the bank and make an arrest, and luckily there were no car accidents, but still. Time. 

Stiles is exhausted. He sticks the whole tray in the toaster-oven and watches the little tube-y things turn bright red. Maybe he should have done the microwave instead, that would have been faster. But Derek took the time to cook and stuff, and he’ll probably be amused that Stiles toasted his dinner instead of just nuking it.

Stiles watches the food, leaning against the counter. He’ll be grateful when he gets that promotion to detective. No more car chases then. Promotion, get more money saved up for that house Derek was eyeing on the other side of the Bay, the quiet one, out of the city, away from the traffic and the noise. Close enough to the woods where they could just go up for a hike or camp for the weekend if they want, but still close enough to the city where Stiles can still work and Derek can still commute to the university.

Stiles thinks about that ring that’s still hidden in that box tucked away in three pairs of socks in the drawer underneath the bed, and thinks wistfully of the moment. The right moment would be a romantic one, one when they actually are having dinner at the same time… 

Stiles sees the dirty napkin on the counter, smudged with chocolate or something. Heh, Derek’s sweet tooth. He picks it up and steps on the trashcan lever, and is about to drop it in when he sees it: at the bottom of the trash bag is what looks like most of a full, round, homemade chocolate cake, iced and everything.

_Happy Anniversary._

Fuck. 

That’s today, isn’t it? Stiles closes his eyes, and the memory of Derek asking him out for the first time doesn’t fill him with the butterflies and warm happiness it normally does, but terror. Stiles is the one who insisted on celebrating anniversaries. Derek didn’t like them, had enough bad relationships in the past to be wary, but Stiles– Stiles wanted all the celebrations, all the memories of their love. It’s been what, seven years now? Four of them dating officially, three of them living in this shitty apartment eking out a living for themselves in the city. Derek’s still knee-deep in his PhD program, dissertating away and teaching history undergrads, and Stiles is attempting to climb the ladder at SFPD. It’s been hard, long hours on both of them. 

Stiles feels guilty; this isn’t the first dinner he missed. Hell, they hardly eat together anyways. Derek wakes early to catch the BART down to Berkeley, and Stiles used to wake up just in time to give him a goodbye kiss, but he’s gotten used to waking up and Derek already having left for the day. And sometimes Stiles will get home and Derek is still in his office, grading papers well into the night. 

God, he misses his boyfriend. 

Stiles opens the bedroom door, expecting to see the outline of Derek in bed, but he’s sitting up instead, reading a book. He looks up at Stiles. 

“Did you eat?” Derek asks. 

“It’s in the oven thing. Thanks,” Stiles says, not sure what else to say. 

They stare at each other for a long moment, and Stiles wonders how they’ve gotten here. When they first moved in they were so excited to have a place to themselves. They had sex on every single piece of furniture in this shitty apartment. There was that one day when the BART shut down and they decided it wasn’t worth going to work and they just stayed in, had take out, and they had sex like, ten times that day. And now Stiles can’t remember the last time they had sex. Fuck, when was the last time they even kissed, past a perfunctory goodbye?

Derek closes the book. He takes off his glasses and puts them on the bedside table, like he’s about to go to sleep, but he doesn’t lay down. Instead, he rubs the bridge of his nose and looks back at Stiles, and Stiles can feel a sharp, coil of dread starting to unfurl inside him. 

“Stiles,” Derek says. He sounds so tired. “Are you okay?”

That wasn’t what Stiles was expecting. “Yeah,” he says, a little hoarse. “You–”

“I caught a bit of the chase on TV, just as it was ending. He had a gun.”

“Yeah.” Stiles doesn’t want to think about the details. He’s glad it was over. 

“I’m glad you aren’t hurt.” 

Stiles nods. “You– how was your day? It was midterms, right?”

Derek sighs. “That was a while ago. I’m grading finals right now. We’re about to start the break.” He sets the book down on the table, crosses his arms and looks at him. “Stiles, I don’t think I can do this anymore. We hardly see each other and we _live together._  I don’t– I don’t want to worry about you every night, whether or not you’re going to be okay. I know it was your dream to make detective and change the world and everything, but it’s… it’s hell for me. I don’t even know what’s going on with you anymore. This is the longest conversation we’ve had for weeks.”

“We’ve been really busy, Derek, I’m–”  _sorry_  is the word Stiles should say, that he wants to say, and it’s on the tip of his tongue–

“Our lease is up next month. I don’t think we should renew it.” Derek’s tone is flat, and he isn’t looking at Stiles. 

“You want to move somewhere else?” Stiles’ heart is racing. He doesn’t want to hear Derek say it, but he already knows the answer. 

Derek shakes his head. “I don’t want to live with you anymore, Stiles. I don’t want to be with you– it’s like– it’s like we’re not together anyways, this past month. We just kind of occupy the same space sometimes, sleep in the same bed. I don’t want that.” 

He can see Derek sitting on the bed, watching him, and his eyes are stinging. The toaster oven beeps, and Stiles ignores it. “I don’t want that either,” he says. He can feel something wet slide down his cheek, and he feels ashamed for breaking down like this but– Derek is his whole world, isn’t he? The love of his life– how did he let it get to this? “I’m sorry,” he says, in a small voice, and he steps closer, sits on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been really wrapped up in work, and that promotion, I…”

“I know. I get it. I just don’t think our lives are compatible anymore. I’ve got enough on my plate with my dissertation and my students and I’ve got a defense coming up and I… it’s exhausting, missing you all the time.” Derek folds his hands together. 

“I miss you too,” Stiles says. “I really am sorry. I–”

“The promotion. You should– you should go for it. You’ll make a great detective,” Derek says, voice bitter. 

“I actually kind of hate it,” Stiles says, and it’s like a weight has been lifted off his chest. “I mean, I was really going for that promotion because, well, I’ve been putting money away, you know? And you know when I get single-minded on a goal and stuff, and I’ve wanted to buy that… well, be ready to buy for us when we… I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, but I was waiting to pop the question on a romantic date. Like our anniversary. But I forgot, like a jackass.” 

Derek gives him a confused look, so Stiles reaches under the bed and opens the sock drawer. Behind all the dress socks that Derek never wears, he finds the sock-ball and pulls it out, hands it to Derek.

Derek stares at the thing and starts to peel away the socks, one by one, until he’s left with a box. He opens it and looks inside. Just stares.

He doesn’t say anything, and Stiles doesn’t know what to do. He feels so lost. He can’t think of a future where he isn’t with Derek, doesn’t want to think about it, but if it’s what Derek wants, if it’s what it takes for Derek to be happy…

Stiles gets into bed, crawls under the covers. It’s a huge fucking bed, a California king size, the first luxury item they bought together, and Stiles remember him joking with Derek about how they needed the space for all the acrobatic sex they would have.

There’s so much space. He and Derek have their own sides of the bed; almost two feet between them. 

Stiles hears Derek set the box down on his bedside table and turn off the light, and the sound of Derek shuffling and laying down. 

They lay there in the dark, and Stiles is pretty sure his heart is breaking into pieces. Derek is so close, he just wants to reach out and take his hand, hold it, do something, anything, but Derek’s never felt further away. Stiles finally turns on his side, facing the wall. 

The toaster oven is beeping and then it makes the noise that it’s turning off, but Stiles feels like if he leaves the bed now it’ll be over, that their relationship is over.

There’s a hand on his shoulder. Hesitant. Like Derek doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch Stiles anymore. 

Stiles turns over. Derek’s eyes are shiny, glassy with tears, and he looks miserable. “I’ve been thinking about trying to end it for awhile, but I don’t… Stiles, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Stiles says in a small voice. 

Derek reaches up and strokes the side of his face, and Stiles closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. 

“I just couldn’t think of a way to fix it. I mean, being busy isn’t going to stop, and we’re both dedicated to our jobs…”

“I love you more, though. You’re worth it to me. I just got all swept up in this magical future I saw where we were happy and living in that house you love with a view of the Bay and we could camp every weekend and we’d get married and finally get a dog and… I forgot about the present. I didn’t take the time to appreciate you. I’m sorry.” 

Derek kisses him then. It’s slow, like a question, and it tastes like tears. Stiles isn’t sure whose. 

“I love you more than my job, too,” Derek says. “I… I’m done for the semester, once I’m finished making up all these papers and turn in the grades. I’ve got two weeks off, but I know you probably can’t take off that long, but maybe we could do a long weekend somewhere, and then we could see a couples counselor and stuff…”

Stiles kisses Derek again; on the lips, the cheeks, his forehead. “I think I want to quit SFPD.” 

“What? You don’t have to do that for me.”

“For me, Derek. And for you. You know I hate the hours and being detective in the big city? It’s not really what I want anymore. I can make just as much of a difference, maybe more, in a small town. My dad told me he got a deputy position opening up at home. It’s just an idea, but…”

Derek blinks at him. 

Stiles rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure if I’m remembering this correctly, but you’re almost done with your dissertation, right? You just need to write it and finish it and then do your defense and… this next semester will be just writing and writing and not teaching?”

“Yeah. I could– I could do that in Beacon Hills.” 

Stiles nods, hope starting to bloom in his chest. “I think you were right about our lease. Let’s not renew it. Rent is cheaper in Beacon Hills anyway.”

“We could probably afford a house.” 

Stiles wants to cry, this time with relief, thinking about that savings account he set aside. “You want to do that with me, still? You want to be with me?”

Derek kisses him again, curls in close, throws a leg over Stiles’ thigh. “Yes.”

They talk in soft whispers, about the future, plans to move and career changes and more time, more time to have together. There are kisses, and soft touches, like rediscovering a familiar place, and it feels so much like home, to be with Derek again. They rock together, finding a rhythm, making love for the first time in months, a quick relief of hands and mouths and bare skin. 

They still fit together; chests heaving as Stiles curls into Derek’s chest, and Derek rests his head on top of Stiles’. Stiles listens to Derek’s heartbeat, kisses his collarbone.  

Derek nudges him, turns him gently over so they can spoon, and wraps an arm around his waist. 

Stiles can see the ring box on the bedside table; the ring is gleaming in the scant light from the streetlights shining through the window. 

Derek kisses the back of his neck. “That future you were talking about? With the house and the dog and the camping weekends? I’d like that.”

“Me too,” Stiles murmurs, and he falls asleep in the arms of the love of his life.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm on [tumblr](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com) and [ twitter](http://twitter.com/bleep0bleep) if you wanna say hi.


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